William went crazy for this orzo dish, spiked with sweet butternut squash, brown butter, roasted hazelnuts and sage. Thanks to fresh, local produce and a gratuitous helping of fat—why not add butter and cream—the orzo far exceeded my expectations. It was creamy, rich (but not obnoxiously so) and chock full of nutty flavor.

What made the difference?

Walnuts or pine nuts would have worked, but roasted hazelnuts transformed the dish. Olive oil would have coated the pasta just fine, but brown butter worked to amp up the hazelnut flavor. Also, I’m usually I’m lazy with butternut squash, roasting unpeeled squash halves and peeling them once they’ve cooled. For this orzo,  I peeled, diced, and roasted the raw squash. That way, a larger surface area of the sweet squash was able to caramelize, further intensifying its flavor.

This orzo is a good example of taking simple (cheap) ingredients and squeezing every ounce of flavor from them. Instead of a ho hum, not-to-be repeated vegetarian dinner, this is a dish my husband will request and one I’ll gladly repeat when there’s fresh squash available.

Roasted Butternut Squash Orzo
1 medium butternut squash,  peeled and diced
1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
Salt and pepper
2 cups orzo pasta
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 small onion, thinly sliced
2 gloves garlic minced
10 sage leaves, thinly sliced
1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese
1/3 cup heavy cream
1/2 cup chopped roasted hazelnuts

Instructions
Preheat oven to 400°.

Toss butternut squash in a olive oil and salt and pepper to taste. Spread squash onto a rimed baking sheet, and roast for 30 minutes. Remove squash from oven, and set aside.

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Add orzo and cook according to package directions. Drain pasta, and keep warm.

Meanwhile, heat a medium frying pan on medium heat. Add butter, and brown. Stir in onions, and cook until soft—about 4 minutes. Add garlic and sage, and cook 1 minute more.

In a large bowl, combine squash, orzo, brown butter mixture, Parmesan, and cream. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

Divide pasta into bowls and top with hazelnuts.

Serves 4

William and I hosted my family for Easter weekend, and I cooked a heap of delicious food for Easter eve, breakfast and afternoon lunch. We had a three hour recovery nap after everyone left late Sunday afternoon, and I’m essentially napping this week in the kitchen, making the best of a fridge full of leftovers.

Monday night we ate bowls full of pasta with rabbit ragu from a modified epicurious.com recipe. I thought it cheeky to serve Peter Cottontail on the eve of Easter. So last Friday I went on a hunt for fresh rabbit. Nothing at Whole Foods or Gardner’s Market. I drove to a rabbit pet farm in the Redland … oops. At the end of a long frustrating adventure, I bought two D’Artagnan bunnies at the Fresh Market. The meat and meal were beautiful—fresh pasta studded with chunks of meat, sage and pancetta—but for the time commitment and price, I was disappointed. Before I conduct another rabbit experiment, I need to find a local source for happy, fresh bunnies.

We also dyed and hid the requisite Easter eggs for my 1-year-old niece, Camille. And though William isn’t fond of boiled eggs, I take great pleasure in a sloppy sandwich piled high with egg salad. Since I’m out of a few pantry staples—namely dijon mustard and relish—I made an egg salad with garam masala based on a deviled egg recipe that I made a few weeks ago for a baby shower. I combined six chopped eggs, 1/4 cup mayo, 1 tablespoon mango chutney, 1 teaspoon jalapeno chutney, 1 teaspoon garam masala, 1/4 cup thinly sliced green onions, and S&P to taste. The mango chutney takes the place of sweet relish, and the jalapeno chutney and onions give it bite. The salad doesn’t taste so exotic that it’s weird. It just has a little oomph, especially when served on homemade bread and topped with fresh pea sprouts from the CSA.

Confounding canistel. You are super sweet, starchy, and sticky with egg-yolk-orange flesh (hence your nickname egg fruit). Most cooks use you in desserts, but you know I’m a savory gal. And though it sounds easy enough to substitute you for sweet potato and pumpkin, I can’t use you until you turn to near mush. What is an Occaional Omnivore to do?

Alas, I used my first ripe canistel in a batch of gnocchi that were infused with Meyer lemon and tossed with butter, sage and pancetta. While the gnocchi were tasty, their texture was a bit gummy. And only the sweetness and color of the canistel stood out. Otherwise the fruit was invisible. The verdict: I wouldn’t use the recipe again, so I won’t share it with you here.

The star of the meal was sweet kale cooked simply with olive oil, garlic and chicken stock. The match-up pitted familiar vegetable, easy preparation and stellar results vs. exotic fruit, involved preparation and acceptable results.

With two more ripe canistel in my fruit bowl and three more in the box this week, I won’t admit defeat. Yet.

Temperatures are still in the 80s down here in South Florida, but I’m forging forward will fall-inspired menus. Last Friday I made Pumpkin Sage Risotto with a little gem of a pumpkin I picked up from a Jacksonville farmers’ market. For the most part, I followed my tried and true risotto recipe—just adding in roasted pumpkin and fresh sage in the last stage of cooking. 

You could, of course, substitute canned pumpkin in a pinch. But you wouldn’t get this beautiful bright orange color (canned pumpkin tends to be darker) nor the deep, gourdy flavor. Roasted butternut or acorn squash would be a better, most likely sweeter, alternative. 

This recipe yielded plenty of risotto for four main courses, plus two fat risotto cakes that William and I ate with eggs for Saturday breakfast. 

Pumpkin Sage Risotto
1/2 of a 3- to 4-pound pumpkin, roasted
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 medium onion, diced
4 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
2 cups carnaroli or arborio rice
6 cups vegetable or chicken stock
1/3 cup dry white wine
2 tablespoons thinly sliced fresh sage 
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
3/4 cup grated Parmesan 
1 teaspoon (or more) coarse Kosher salt
Pepper to taste 

Instructions
Roast pumpkin (here are great step-by-step instructions), chopping half of the pumpkin into 1/2-inch cubes and reserving the second half for another use. 

Bring stock and wine to a near boil, and turn heat to low. 

Heat olive oil in a wide, 4- to 6-quart pot over medium heat. Add onion, and cook 8 minutes, until soft. Add garlic, and cook 2 minutes more. Add rice to the pot and toast for 1 to 2 minutes, stirring. Now, add 1/2 cup stock mixture at a time, pouring in the next 1/2 cup only after all of liquid has been absorbed by the rice. You should stir the rice constantly. Depending on how salty your stock is, I usually add 1 teaspoon kosher salt once 2 cups of stock have been added, so the rice has plenty of time to absorb the flavor. 

Once all of the liquid has been added, the grains should be al dente and the dish creamy (don’t let all of the liquid from you last pour get absorbed). Stir in pumpkin and sage, and cook until it’s heated through. Add parmesan, butter, and salt and pepper to taste. Serve immediately. 

Serves 5 (as a main course) or 7 (side-dish servings)

This is one of the most satisfying meals I’ve made in months, and it’s vegetarian eating at its best: creamy polenta flavored with pumpkin, butter and Parmesan topped with herby white beans. I’ve featured  polenta recipes on Occasional Omnivore before, but the toppings, rather than humble corn meal, have been the star. In this dish, polenta carries equal weight.

Since I made this over Labor Day weekend, I didn’t take any shortcuts. I made a giant batch of great northern beans from scratch, reserving leftover beans for future meals. But you could use canned beans to save time. I also chopped part of a calabaza squash (a pumpkin-like squash frequently used in Cuban cuisine) for the polenta, but you could open a can of pumpkin puree instead. (However, I wouldn’t skimp on the side dish brussels sprouts—sprouts, olive oil, S&P, coarse-grain mustard and a pinch of sugar @ 450° for 30ish minutes—which one of our dinner guests ate like candy.)

This recipe really could work either as a weeknight or full-production weekend meal, it’s your choice—and chance for vegetarian greatness. 

White Beans with Rosemary and Sage
1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1 small onion, diced
8 fresh sage leaves, thinly sliced
2 (heaping) teaspoons fresh rosemary, finely chopped
6 cups cooked white beans (navy, great northern, etc.), drained from cooking liquid
Salt and pepper

Instructions
Heat olive oil and butter in a large frying pan. Add onion, and cook until it just begins to turn golden, about 10 minutes. Sprinkle in sage and rosemary, and cook for 1 minute. Pour in beans, and cook at least 5 minutes—the beans should absorb some of the the herby flavor. Adjust seasoning with salt and pepper. 

Serves 6 to as polenta accompaniment 

Pumpkin Polenta
1 tablespoon olive oil
2 cups (or more) diced pumpkin or winter squash
1 clove garlic, minced
3 cups vegetable or chicken broth
2 cups milk
3 tablespoons butter
1 1/4 cups corn meal
Kosher salt and pepper
1 cup grated Parmesan

Instructions
Heat olive oil in a large saucepan. Add pumpkin and sautee for 5 minutes. Stir in garlic, and cook 3 minutes more. Add a 1/4 cup of  water to the pan, cover, and cook pumpkin until soft—5 to 8 minutes more. 

Pour the broth in with the pumpkin, and bring to a simmer. With an immersion blender, roughly blend the pumpkin, leaving it as chunky as you’d. Pour the milk into the pot, and bring to a boil.

Plunk in the butter, and whisk polenta into the pumpkin broth, breaking up any clumps. Go ahead and season liberally with salt (about 2 teaspoons) and pepper. 

Cook the polenta for 5 to 8 minutes, stirring frequently. (It will thicken quickly.) Stir in 3/4 cup Parmesan, and make final adjustments with salt and pepper. 

Serve topped with white beans and remaining Parmesan cheese. 

Serves 6

This is what quick pork saltimbocca with wilted spinach looks like after William gets hold of it. I would have loved to have posted a photo of the bone-in pork chop, golden and stuffed to the brim with salty prosciutto, pungent sage and funky fontina. But we got hungry and forgot to point and shoot.

I served this meaty meal for Cristen and Graham as they breezed through Miami last week on the way to the Keys. The recipe ran in the August issue of Gourmet, and while the heavy flavors are less than summery, who can argue with pork stuffed pork?

To continue on the less-than-healthy Italian theme, I served Marcella Hazan’s Fettuccine with Prosciutto, Cream and Nutmeg on the side. The ingredients and preparation couldn’t be simpler. The rich, salty sum was greater than its parts, and on a normal night, this would be the star of our meal. 

Fettuccine with Prosciutto, Heavy Cream and Nutmeg
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
2/3 cup thinly sliced prosciutto, about 2 ounces
1/2 cup heavy cream
1/4 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1/4 cup grated Parmesan
10 ounces fresh fettuccine

Instructions
In a large pot, bring salted water to a boil. 

Meanwhile, melt butter in a large frying pan over medium heat. Add prosciutto to pan, and lightly brown. Stir in cream and nutmeg, and reduce the liquid by one-third. (Marcella says that egg pasta is “thirsty for sauce,” so be careful not to over reduce the cream.)

Cook pasta according to package directions.  Drain and reserve a few tablespoons of cooking water. Toss the pasta with the cream sauce, adding pasta water if the mixture is dry. Sprinkle Parmesan over the pasta, toss, and serve immediately. 

Serves 4 (as a side)